


Gravity, or the lack thereof

by halflightwrites



Category: Shazam! (2019)
Genre: First Kiss, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Underage Drinking, Victor is supportive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 06:34:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18615115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halflightwrites/pseuds/halflightwrites
Summary: “What’s the difference between falling and flying?"Or, the one where Freddy and Billy stumble through feelings, let themselves fall, and come to an answer.





	Gravity, or the lack thereof

“What’s the difference between falling and flying,” Freddy asked.

The bottle of wine sat at his knee and Billy reached for it, swallowed back a gulp of the sick-sweet drink and said, “Direction?” 

They weren’t drunk, at least Freddy didn’t think so, but he could be wrong. He wasn’t an expert on drinking, especially considering this was only the second time he’d done it, but his body felt light and heavy and a little askew, as if the entire world had decided to lean sideways for a bit and hadn’t bothered to let him know, though that wasn’t unusual. Being out of the loop or feeling that way, specifically next to Billy, who was waiting for an answer.

“No,” Freddy said. “I mean, technically, yes. But also no. You can fly down just as easily as you can fly up, and besides what if the world were upside down? Or you were upside down, then falling would also go both ways. No, listen, the difference is that one is intentional and the other isn’t.” 

Billy sighed, as if Freddy were some terrible burden and he’d just swallowed back the rest of his patience with Rosa’s cooking wine. Freddy had raised an eyebrow when Billy came upstairs with it, but hadn’t protested; if Billy was doing something, Freddy wanted to be doing it alongside him, even if it tasted awful and made him feel silly and inexperienced and fuzzy in the head.

They’d have to get up in the morning for Sunday breakfast, where Freddy would glare at Billy across the table for talking him into drinking when neither of them liked it—not that it had taken much talking to convince him, or any at all; Billy had simply raised his eyebrow in response as he held the bottle up, the liquid inside swishing sideways like the corner of his lip, pulling up in that not-so-shy smile Billy always had. There was something else in it too, something that would probably explain why Billy wanted to drink at all, but Freddy didn’t ask then and now, the bottle drained to half between them, it felt like too late.

“You could fall on purpose,” Billy said. The lamp Freddy had been reading comics under cast orange-yellow light against his face, softening his hair and eyes and sending swirling shadows through the wine onto the hardwood. 

Freddy tried to scrunch his expression into something comically disbelieving, but he probably just looked stupid. He took the bottle back from Billy, just to have something to do. “Why would anyone do that?”

Billy shrugged. “Trampolines? Swimming pools, gymnastics, um—love? There are lots of reasons, dude.”

“None of those count, though,” Freddy argued. “That’s not falling, that’s, like, jumping? Or dropping? There’s a difference between the two. And that difference is—”

“That one’s intentional, and one’s not. Yeah, okay.” Billy got to his feet and took the wine back. “You’ve got me there.” He stood awkwardly in the center of their room, looking around as if unsure what he’d been about to do, then got to his knees in front of Freddy and shoved the half-empty bottle beneath the bed. 

“Really creative hiding spot.”

“Show me one better,” Billy countered as he left the room.

With their drinking officially over, Freddy climbed into bed and tried to get comfortable. His mattress wasn’t exactly the least comfortable thing he’d ever slept on—that honor went to the sofa he’d spent a year on in the group home he stayed in when he was ten—and he shouldn’t complain, especially when Billy spent his nights on park benches and sidewalks and curled up on shop staircases for years, but Freddy also couldn’t ignore the fact that his body ached. A lot. Usually from the strain he put on his shoulder and hip from walking with the crutch, and especially at night when there was nothing left to distract him from it.

Billy slipped back into the room and, when he saw Freddy already in bed, turned off the light. But he didn’t move or climb into the top bunk. “Billy?” 

“Yeah,” Billy said. Freddy could see the dark outline of him standing there, just out of reach. “I’m just thinking, what if I have to pee in the middle of the night and fall trying to get out of bed. You know, because of the wine.”

Freddy thought that was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard, and he said so. “You’ve never fallen climbing out of bed before? And you get up to pee a lot.”

“It’s gross that you know that.”

“I’m not the one with bladder issues, dude. If you’re really worried about it, just sleep down here.” Freddy patted the empty space beside him, then realized how awkward that might seem. “Or the floor, or the couch. I don’t know. There are options,” He said, trying and failing to correct himself.

Billy stayed still for another moment deliberating, then very unstrategically crawled over Freddy and into the sheets beside him. The process involved two bumped knees, two weak-sounding _sorrys_ and a hand on Freddy’s chest that seemed to crush every single one of his ribs individually. Then the weight lifted and the bed felt smaller than it ever had. 

“Night,” Billy said. 

“Night.” Freddy’s heart took entirely too long to settle back down, but unlike his leg, which felt simultaneously like a lead weight and as if an electric current had been embedded alongside the veins in his thigh, his heart eventually did settle. After at least an hour, his leg still hadn’t. Freddy turned away from Billy, then back, then rolled flat on his back and let out a long, aggravated breath toward the empty top bunk.

Billy touched him, at the exposed skin below his sleeve and above the sheets, and Freddy jumped. He’d thought Billy was asleep. “Are you okay?”

Freddy faced the invisible ceiling again. “It’s just my leg. Sometimes it aches and I can’t get comfortable. I usually prop it up with a pillow or something, but you’re kind of in that space, so—no, don’t leave, stupid. It’s fine.”

Billy resettled with a huff, something not quite a laugh like his smile was sometimes not quite a smile. “Here,” Billy said, then fumbled beneath the sheets until he gripped Freddy’s bad leg and pulled it up, locking it flush around Billy’s hip and pressing them chest to chest. Freddy’s nose met Billy’s collarbone and Billy asked, “Okay?”

“Okay.” Freddy only responded because it was the normal and appropriate thing to do. If he hadn’t, Billy would have called him on it and thought something was wrong, but nothing was wrong. Freddy just didn’t know where to put his arms now, and his heart had kicked up again as if the electric current had moved from his thigh and settled higher.

Billy must have noticed because he guided Freddy’s arm around his waist and set his own over Freddy’s shoulders, pushing the curls flat at the base of his neck. Their bodies pressed closer and Freddy knew what Billy was going for with the position. His leg felt better already and he suddenly understood what everyone was talking about when they gushed about cuddling and falling asleep beside someone and this was by far the most incredible, awful idea either of them had ever had.

It almost topped meeting Superman. Almost.

**🗲**

Billy stared at the infomercial on the television screen, but if you asked him what it was about, he couldn’t tell you. He did know that if infomercials were on, it had to be well past four in the morning. Billy should get up and go to bed, but he’d already tried and failed and the thought of trying again wasn’t appealing in the slightest. 

It had only been three weeks since he’d started sleeping in the bottom bunk with Freddy—the first few nights by using a collection of half-assed excuses for it until Freddy just said, “Again? You’re gonna give me sleep issues on top of all my other issues,” as he pointed to the empty space beside him and allowed Billy to crawl in, again. And then Freddy had stopped questioning him and Billy had stopped asking.

It became routine.

But Freddy was on patrol tonight with Pedro and Billy couldn’t sleep. It was really really dumb and stupid and he kind of hated himself for being so dumb and stupid, but it wasn’t like he could stop. He had let himself fall this far, and now gravity was taking over.

Billy pulled his eyes from the TV when Victor came downstairs, sure he was going to be scolded for still being up. Instead, Victor just lifted a dark eyebrow and continued into the kitchen. He came back with a glass of water and sat on the coffee table. “Should I be worried?”

“Probably not,” Billy said. 

“I’m glad you kids make our jobs so easy. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Billy played stupid, because he couldn’t admit the truth without—what? Punishment? Abandonment at the absolute worst, though the idea of Victor and Rosa giving him up was laughably absurd, even over something like this. But at best? Awkwardness, utter and complete embarrassment over his stupid crush on his dumb best friend? No thanks.

Victor sighed. “The reason you’re up at four ᴀᴍ?”

“No thanks,” Billy said. “Why are you up at four ᴀᴍ?”

Victor lifted the glass between them as if to say, _touché._ “Unlike some people, I don’t mind sharing,” he said. “I’m waiting for Pedro and Freddy to get home.”

“You wait up for us?” Billy asked, surprised and somewhat touched. 

Rosa and Victor had found out about their superpowers less than six months after they’d gotten them, through a combination of clever observation and sheer stuidity on the kids’ part; keeping secrets hadn’t been one of Darla’s new powers, and when pressed Freddy had immediately given up the entire act and told them everything. 

“I can fly!” he’d told Billy after, “I can’t _not_ brag about that.”

“I’ve never noticed you up before,” Billy told Victor.

“Rosa and I trade nights for kid patrol. And no, of course we don’t let you see us. That would ruin our cool, none overbearing parent reputation.”

Billy snorted. “You let your kids be superheros and run around the city at night, that’s so far from overbearing.”

“We’re supposed to be here for you guys when you need us. If we held you down and didn’t trust you, then you wouldn’t come to us when you need to get something off your chest.” Victor gave Billy a pointed look, and Billy sighed.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Any particular reason?” Victor asked.

Billy sat up and when he finally spoke, it was directed at the television screen. “I can’t sleep when Freddy’s not here.” 

Silence. And then, “It’s okay to be worried about him, you know. I’m glad he has someone looking out for him. But he did an alright job taking care of himself before you came along, he can handle a few hours without you.”

Billy nodded, torn between agreeing and not. Of course Freddy could take care of himself, but that didn’t mean he had to. Billy remembered all the time he spent surviving on the streets and wanted to put as much distance between then and now as possible—he had a home now, a family, and among the many downsides that came with commitment was worry. But, that wasn’t what kept Billy up at night. “Yeah,” he said, “You’re right.”

A small, insecure part of him worried that maybe he only thought he was falling for Freddy because Freddy was there; Billy had spent so long wishing for a parent that loved him, a family, and now he had one. He had spent so long alone, without friends or anyone to watch his back—and now he had someone.

His attraction to Freddy could just be some haphazard attempt at getting used to having someone. Billy was a teenage boy, it’s not like it took a huge leap to get from point A to point B on the spectrum of feelings. But he was pretty sure it wasn’t that simple. It was possible he only wanted Freddy the way he did because he was touch-starved and inexperienced, but Billy didn’t think that mattered either. He knew what he felt, if nothing else. Besides, if Billy was touch-starved, Freddy was too.

Victor let him go upstairs without more prodding, but Billy thought he saw something else in Victor’s eyes, a question that Billy wasn’t prepared to answer. 

**🗲**

Here’s the thing about patrol: when something’s happening, it’s great. It’s exhilarating and action-packed and worth every ounce of sweat and effort and time split between superheroing and school and family. But when something’s not happening, like tonight, it’s painfully boring.

Freddy liked to pass the time drifting between buildings, not quite flying and not quite not; just pinging from one tall ledge to the next, like shooting off the wall in a swimming pool or being the ball in Brick Breaker or some other old reflex game. 

It was incredible having a body that could just _do_ that. No crutch, no effort, no gravity. 

Whenever Freddy wore his avatar, he felt just as invincible as he actually was. All of his day-to-day worries and fears and insecurities stayed locked inside his normal body and he could be free of them, even if just for the few hours on the few nights he spent in this one. 

And then, like always, the hours ran out and he went back home, limping. Freddy said goodnight to Pedro at the top of the stairs and slipped inside his room as quietly as possible to avoid waking Billy.

It was something like four in the morning, but time was something else that didn’t matter when he was in Shazam form—nothing mattered, really, except the feeling of freedom and the rush of adrenaline and taking down whatever enemy they came across that night. 

Now time mattered once again, because Freddy had to be up in three hours for school and Rosa would literally murder him if he didn’t go. High school was bad enough on it’s own, but doing it on next to no sleep was practically a death wish. Still, Freddy gladly did it almost every night because the idea of putting hero duty on hold for even a second, especially for something as trivial and brief as school, was unimaginable. Not impossible to imagine, no, Freddy just refused to imagine it.

When Freddy crawled into bed, Billy curled against him and mumbled something, but Freddy didn’t find out what it was until the next night. He came back from showering and caught Billy watching him. “You’re moving slow.”

Freddy readjusted the items on his desk, smoothed down his shirt, and didn’t look at Billy. Finally, he said, “It’s hard after patrol, coming back to this body.” Billy shot him a look that might have been pity or something else, and Freddy did what he did best: ran his mouth. “It’s not like—I don’t feel anything that happens in that body, you know, it doesn’t carry over to this one. But it’s like stepping out of a brand new Maserati and into a shitty, used car where the engine turns over multiple times before finally starting. It just… takes a minute to adjust.”

Billy didn’t say anything for a moment, just sat at the edge of Freddy’s mattress and kept looking at Freddy with that look. “Yeah I—it isn’t as bad for me, but I know what you mean. I guess that’s just, the weight of mortality or whatever. Is there anything I can do?”

Freddy laughed, “Not unless you wanna give me a back rub, no.”

“Okay,” Billy said.

“Seriously?”

Billy stood up. “Sure, if it’ll help.” 

He wrangled Freddy onto the ground, their thighs touching, a miniscule amount of space seperating Freddy’s back and Billy’s chest. If Freddy were to lean back, they would press flush together. He leaned forward instead, and Billy laid his hands against Freddy’s spine. “Does your back hurt?” he asked, which was a really stupid question.

“Every day,” Freddy said.

He told Billy where to focus and relaxed into the feeling of the boy’s hands on him, the pressure of Billy’s thumbs and the ache as it slowly disappeared from his muscles. Freddy couldn’t stop the groan that escaped his throat. Billy’s hands paused on his back, and for a heart-wrenching second Freddy thought he’d ruined everything, that Billy would pull away in disgust and their friendship would end right then and there, but Billy just asked, “You okay?”

“Just feels good,” Freddy said, and Billy’s hands started working again.

**🗲**

Billy thought he could get away with not getting into the pool because he assumed Freddy would sit out as well. He was wrong.

Freddy looked up at him from the 4ft line, eyebrow raised, and Billy shifted his attention sideways to where Rosa and Victor were entertaining Darla at the shallow end. “Are you really gonna sit this out?” Freddy asked.

Billy shifted at the edge, uncomfortable and sort of embarrassed. He could take the deck chair between Pedro and Eugene and pretend he just wasn’t in the mood to get wet, but Freddy knew him better than that. “You don’t know how to swim, do you?” 

“It’s not like I had anyone to teach me on the street,” Billy said. He hadn’t stuck around any of his past foster homes long enough to bother asking for a lesson, it hadn’t seemed important at the time. “How do you know how?”

Freddy propped his chin on his arms and hung there, curls dripping onto his bare shoulders. “I know this is hard to believe, but I used to have two working legs. And a mom.” 

Ouch. Okay, Billy deserved that.

“I’m just gonna—” Billy gestured behind him to the chairs, but Freddy caught his ankle. 

“Oh no you don’t. Get in, I’ll teach you.” Billy raised a disbelieving eyebrow and Freddy laughed. “It’s not hard. I mean babies can do it, I think you’ll manage. Do you trust me?”

Of course. “I guess,” Billy said. He sat down at the edge and dangled his feet in the water. Freddy floated in front of him, grip light around Billy’s calf. Logically, Billy knew that if he got in the water it would be fine; Freddy wouldn’t let him drown and even if he did, Billy could just say Shazam and save himself, but still. 

Freddy stood up fully and spread his arms. “Come on, I’ll catch you.”

“You’re an idiot,” Billy said, but he got in the water. Freddy gripped his shoulders, weighing Billy down and immediately making his fear of drowning seem rational, and pulled him away from the pool wall so that he couldn’t back out. 

“Just relax,” Freddy instructed as he let go in the deep end, pumping his arms back and forth to stay afloat. “Don’t overthink it, your body will float on it’s own. It's like flying.” 

Billy tried to mimic Freddy’s movements, but the harder he tried to relax the less it worked and then he was flailing, the pool bottom completely out of reach and the water filling his mouth and nose, choking cold against his bare chest. He reached out for Freddy instinctively, but that was absolutely the wrong move.

It pulled them both under. 

When Billy opened his eyes, he saw Freddy’s startled expression, eyes wide open underwater and his hair floating in wavy tufts around his head. His panic cleared, eyes stinging from the chlorine, and for a moment all Billy could think about was the boy in front of him and how calm everything seemed underwater. If breathing weren’t an issue it would be nice to just stay here, floating face to face. 

Freddy pried Billy’s hands off him and drug them back to the pool wall, splashing and coughing the whole way. Billy gripped the edge and pulled himself to his chest out of the water, forehead cutting against the stone as he regained his breath. 

“We’re fine! Just drowning!” Freddy called, probably to Rosa and Victor after the commotion had drawn their attention. 

“That was horrible,” Billy said. “I hate you.”

Freddy, the bastard, laughed. Billy turned his head to glare at him and caught the drops of water clinging to his cheeks. “Probably should have explained better.”

“You think? You said you could swim!”

“I didn’t say I was very good at it.” Freddy cupped a hand over his mouth and mumbled, “Better than some people, though.”

Billy pushed him and they wrestled, splashing water out of the pool, before he caught hold of the edge again. 

“Look, you’re doing great,” Freddy said. “Just focus on me.” He started talking and didn’t stop, about ancient history and modern superheroes and the intricate details of buoyancy, which Billy found entirely uninteresting but he didn’t tell Freddy to stop. He watched the water lap at Freddy’s chin and after a few minutes found himself relaxing into it, his grip loosening on the pool’s edge.

“Okay, now let go,” Freddy said. He held up his own hands in demonstration and his nose bobbed beneath the water, distorting his smile.

Billy took a deep breath. He let go. 

**🗲**

“You okay, bud?” Victor asked.

Freddy looked down at the plate in his hands and realized he’d completely zoned out in the middle of drying it. Victor nudged his arm and Freddy shrugged. “Did you ever—I don’t know—feel weird? When you were younger?”

“I still feel weird sometimes. Just something you have to deal with.”

Freddy abandoned the plate on the counter. “That’s really good advice.”

Victor continued washing and rinsing and passed the dishes to Freddy until he sighed and resumed drying them. “I could offer better advice if you were less vague with your problems.”

“I think I like someone. Well actually no, I do like someone. I just feel like I shouldn’t like them, I guess. It’s hard to explain.” Freddy cringed at his rambling, wanting to take back half of what he just said and wanting to say more at the same time. 

“Does this someone happen to be about this high—” Victor held his hand over Freddy’s head, “Brown hair, blue eyes, initials are the reverse of Bruce Wayne’s?” 

“Maybe,” Freddy hesitated. “What makes you say that?”

“Your face gives you away, man.”

“Every time,” Freddy sighed. 

Victor laughed and nudged him again until Freddy picked up the dish towel. “So what exactly is the problem here?”

“I shouldn’t have feelings like this for him, I mean, we’re supposed to be brothers right?” It felt good to finally admit it, even though the admission was painful and awkward and Freddy knew Victor would pull it apart in a second and he would have to face the truth.

But Victor surprised him. “Are you?” He must have read the panic and confusion on Freddy’s face because he said, “I mean, because you don’t have to be. It’s up to you how you feel about him. When Rosa and I took each of you in we hoped that at the very least we would be someone good for you, and that this would become a home to you, and of course we hoped that you would see us as parents one day, but how you view the other kids, that’s entirely up to you. And however you feel, if you love them like siblings or something else, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

Freddy nodded and took Victor’s words in, turning them over and over in his mind like the plates in his hands as he dried them. Could it really be that easy? Was the universe really aligning for him for once and Freddy could actually hope for something without worrying about the consequences or whether or not he deserved it? The question remained—a giant, looming question that Freddy didn’t want to poke at right now—of if Billy felt the same, but right now Freddy let himself revel in the fact that it was okay. 

“You mean it?” Freddy asked, “You’re not, like, pranking me right?”

Victor shook his head, then he laughed and said, “How do you think Rosa and I met?”

**🗲**

Here’s the thing about falling: you can’t prepare for it. 

Billy had been lying when he told Freddy you could, that it was something you could choose to do. Maybe he had a point, but in that moment he’d only said it because he liked the way Freddy argued, with all of his focus and brilliance and being, like the argument was the most important thing, and it gave Billy an excuse to focus on him. 

Maybe it would be easier if he could control it, though he’s not sure he would even if that were possible. Which it isn’t, because he’s tried, and because life has been anything but fair, especially to him. 

And so Billy tried as best he could to just go along with it; if he’s already going down, he might as well enjoy the fall. 

He let himself sleep beside Freddy for as long as Freddy let him, and he let himself stare a little too long and a little too obviously and he let his thoughts wander a lot further than they should.

Billy tried not to let himself get distracted, especially during a fight, but sometimes that strategy worked and sometimes he forgot he’d told himself that. 

Freddy zipped past him and Billy paused in mid-air, torn between following and staying put. They weren’t fighting anyone important or dangerous; some bank robbers had managed to get ahold of some stun rays and air blasters, which made flying toward them a bit difficult but not impossible, and they were simply keeping them distracted. 

By the time the police arrived, Billy had mostly regained his composure, at least long enough to give a brief statement and act like someone older than almost sixteen. He followed behind Freddy as they flew off and it wasn’t until they landed on a building a few blocks away that Billy realized Freddy was holding something.

“You took one of their guns?” he asked, and Freddy grinned.

“Wanna see how it works? I’m betting four blasts before you’re down. Do you have a counter?”

“Six.” Billy folded his arms over his chest. “And only if I get to do it to you after.”

Freddy laughed, and Billy could hear his real laugh in his head, higher, lighter, the one he had in his own body. The avatars were cool, but as much as Billy liked having them and loved being able to fight alongside Freddy, he liked the real Freddy a lot more.

“You’re on,” Freddy said and raised the stun ray. It looked like a comically inaccurate gun, though the main components were there: grip, barrel, trigger. But it was bulky and silver, and instead of shooting bullets it shot a blinding line of light that looked like a laser from above.

Freddy pulled the trigger and Billy blinked against the shot, then again, and again. It was painful, in the way that squinting at the sun is painful, but it was funnier to be unaffected and to see Freddy’s reaction. Down on the street, one of the robbers had accidently been hit with the other’s shot and had immediately dropped to the ground. 

It wasn’t until the fifth shot that Billy realized how close he was to the roof’s edge and got an idea. A terrible, stupid, brilliant idea. It wasn’t so much a test as it was a confirmation.

When Freddy fired the sixth shot, Billy yelled, “Shazam!” and stepped backward over the edge.

Falling backwards, he couldn’t see the ground rising to meet him, only feel the air as it ripped at his clothes and hair. Instead, he saw Freddy as he leapt off the roof ledge and rushed to meet him.

Billy reached out a hand and Freddy caught it. He wrapped his arms around Billy and took them back up to the roof, spilling them together across the concrete at the top. 

“Are you fucking stupid? What is wrong with you!” Freddy yelled, already back in his normal body. He pinned Billy to the ground, legs on either side of Billy’s hips and glared at him, though the expression was sort of ineffective on his face.

“You caught me,” Billy said. Because Freddy had a point, and the idea in hindsight was literally asking for death. But he’d known Freddy would catch him, so what did it matter?

“Of course I caught you, stupid. Did you think I was just going to let you kill yourself?”

Billy shook his head, but he was laughing. At his own stupidity, at the both of them, at the way his heart raced beneath Freddy and the sheer, stupid hope that Freddy could feel it through their clothes.

“Oh my god,” Freddy said. “What was the point of that?”

“I fell,” Billy said. “On purpose.”

“I’m going to murder you,” Freddy said.

“Okay,” Billy said, then he reached up and kissed him.

**🗲**

“What’s the difference between falling and flying,” Billy asked, smirking against Freddy’s mouth.

“There isn’t one.”

**Author's Note:**

> how long will I continue writing shazam fics instead of writing my novel? the answer is yet to be determined...


End file.
